Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy (55 page)

‘Advance!’ Vespasian bellowed out.

The column edged forward at a slow pace as the first rank edged up the slope of rubble towards the twenty-foot-wide gap in the wall. Cato, like the men around him, raised his shield at an angle above his head and picked his way forward along the gravel of the causeway. Then the gravel gave way to crushed stone and chunks of rock as he reached the scattered rubble at the edge of the ditch. Cato had to keep his eyes down as he picked his way up the slope. Above them he could hear the jeers and cries of the pirates as they pelted the column with missiles that clattered and thudded on to the attackers’ shields. An arrow struck Cato’s shield boss with a sharp ring and deflected to one side. All around him he could hear the grunts of the marines as they laboured up the slope, boots scrambling for purchase on the loose masonry. But the pirates were finding their targets, and men stumbled and fell with gasps and cries of pain. Together with the dead and the litter of arrow and javelin shafts, they slowed the advance of their comrades as they struggled up and forward into the breach.

‘Keep going!’ Vespasian yelled above the din. ‘Keep going!’

‘Come on, Cato!’ Macro shouted, a few paces ahead.’Stay with us.’

Cato forced himself on, sheathing his sword to save a hand for clambering over the rubble. Then the ground evened out. Raising his shield to one side he found himself squinting up at the dusty silhouettes of men on the crumbling wall, black against the pale dawn sky. At once something zipped through the air close to his head as a slingshot splintered a chunk of masonry and a fragment gashed Cato’s cheek, just below the eye socket.

‘Shit!’ He faltered at the red-hot burning sensation, but knew at once that he must not stop, and scrambled on, over the debris and down into the citadel. Below them, through the heaving tangle of armoured bodies and shields, he could see the pirates waiting for them. The marines had passed through the deluge of missiles and now lowered their shields to the front as they scrambled and slid down the rubble towards the enemy. Beyond the ruined gatehouse was a wide street, and the pirates had blocked off the routes leading into the citadel with a crude breastwork constructed from rubble, barrels and piles of furniture. The entrances to the buildings had been sealed with stout timbers nailed across the doorways. A handful of marines already lay dead and injured in front of the barricades; the few men from the first two centuries to survive the ordeal as they passed through the breach.

‘Re-form lines!’ the prefect bellowed. At once, the centurions and the optios relayed the orders and the marines moved into place, forming tight ranks with shields to the front, and javelins held ready.

‘Those men on the wall!’ Vespasian pointed up to the pirates crammed on to the ramparts either side of the breach. ‘Take them down!’

The marines inside the citadel turned on the pirates above them, drew back their javelin arms and unleashed a volley of iron-tipped shafts. The pirates had been tightly packed together, and there was no time to turn and flee. Scores went down, pierced by the javelins, and they tumbled from the walls. With the danger from above lifted the column of marines poured forwards through the breach. Before they could pile into the ranks of the men already inside, Vespasian shouted the order to advance and the marines moved steadily towards the enemy sheltering behind their barricade. Those marines who still had javelins now hurled them into the dense ranks of the pirates packed into the streets beyond the barricades, then drew their swords and gripped them firmly, ready to strike.

Cato and Macro were standing to one side, with the rest of the prefect’s assault squad and Vespasian forced his way through the advancing marines to rejoin them.

‘Secundus! Which way?’

The imperial agent glanced round the square and pointed towards a narrow thoroughfare to the right-hand side of the square. ‘There.’

Vespasian nodded. ‘Right! Macro, Cato, take some men and clear that barricade.’

The two centurions trotted over to the century of marines that had just entered the citadel. Their optio, a weathered-looking veteran, was busy dressing their line, as if he was on a parade ground, and shouting abuse at a hapless youngster. ‘You are a fucking disgrace! Get that chin-strap tied before I throw you to the bloody pirates!’

‘Optio!’ Macro called out.

The officer turned and straightened to attention, barely stirring as an arrow loosed from behind one of the barricades whipped close overhead. ‘Yes, sir!’

‘I need four sections, right now. Form them up in front of that barricade over there.’

‘Yes, sir!’ The optio turned away and shouted out a string of orders to the nearest group of men scrambling through the breach. Macro and Cato looked towards the barricade, shields raised, and inspected the enemy defences.

‘How are we going to do this?’ asked Cato.

‘Same as ever, straight through the centre and roll right over them.’

‘Ah, the master of tactics speaks.’

‘Got a better idea, smart-arse?’

‘No …’

With a loud clatter of nailed boots on cobbles the optio brought up his men and formed them into a tight block, shields raised and ready to go into action. Beyond them Cato could see the rest of the marines piling into the enemy barricades; a heaving mass of armoured men and weapons, while stones and lumps of wood flew overhead in both directions as the rearmost ranks of pirates and marines exchanged missiles.

Macro waited until the formation was still, and then waved his sword arm aloft to get their attention above the din of battle echoing off the buildings in the square.

‘We need to clear that barricade. Go in hard! When they break go after them. No prisoners. Once that’s done, you’re free to help yourselves to the loot!’

The marines raised a cheer for that and then braced themselves for the next order.

‘Forward!’ Macro yelled, and he and Cato slipped into the front rank as the small formation tramped towards the barricade.

The pirates watched them come on with a mix of expressions. Cato noted that some men looked cold and contemptuous, some were wild-eyed and shouting and spitting with pent-up rage. A few looked just as terrified as he felt.

‘Shields up!’ Macro shouted, and Cato just had time to raise his when a hail of stones cracked and rattled off the shields in the front rank. But they could do little harm against the wide curved surfaces of the marines’ shields, and the formation did not even slow down under the barrage. Macro called them to a halt as they reached the barricade and the stones gave way to thrusts from spears and slashes from the heavy curved blades of the pirates’ swords.

‘Cato! Give me a hand here.’

Macro pointed down at the base of the barricade. There was a large tool chest. A heavy brass handle protruded from the front of the chest and Macro sheathed his sword and grasped it. Cato too put his sword away and joined his friend.

‘Ready?’ Macro glanced at him.’One . . . two . . . heave!’

They pulled with all their strength and the wood grated on the cobbles as it began to shift.

‘Come on!’ Macro growled through clenched teeth. ‘Pull!’

The handle suddenly sprang from the face of the wooden chest, nearly sending the two centurions sprawling on their backs. Macro recovered his balance and swore as he saw, round the edge of his shield, that a large section on the front of the chest had come away with the handle. He clenched his fist in momentary frustration and was about to look for another handhold to try, when there was a groan of protest and the lid gave way, collapsing into the chest and bringing down a section of the makeshift barricade with it.

‘That’s it!’ Macro shouted in triumph.’Now clear it away and let’s get at those bastards!’

The pirates desperately aimed blows at the Romans, but with little effect as the second rank of marines leaned forward to cover their comrades with their shields, Macro and Cato pulled away pieces of the barricade and thrust them towards the side where marines threw the wreckage back into the square. In short order, the barricade was little more than a ruin between the two sides and Macro straightened up.

‘Advance!’ he shouted, ripping his sword from his scabbard and stepping up on to the meal bags piled behind the chest. Cato drew his weapon and clambered up beside his friend. In front of them was a sea of hostile faces and shimmering blades. Cato threw his weight behind his shield and jumped to one side, right on top of some of the waiting enemy. He landed on a short, thick-set man stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming with oil that mixed with his sweat to create a foul musty smell that filled Cato’s nostrils for an instant before the pirate collapsed under the impact and Cato thrust his sword into the man’s stomach. Before the pirates could respond, more marines piled through the gap and jumped down amongst the pirates, smashing their shields into the enemies’ faces and thrusting at any exposed flesh that came within reach of their short swords. Even though the pirates tried desperately to hold their ground they were no match for the weight and momentum of the heavily armed marines. Step by step they were driven back from the barricade and up the narrow street beyond. Cato found himself alongside Macro again and the veteran flashed him a grin.

‘This is more like it! Fighting on solid ground again!’

‘Look out!’ Cato shouted as one of the pirates dropped down and aimed to swipe his sword at Macro’s shins beneath his shield.

Macro dropped the shield and the blade rang as it struck the metal trim. Then the shield flew up and out as Macro slammed it into the pirate’s face, knocking the man cold. He slumped on to the ground and the marine to Macro’s left finished him off with a shattering cut to the skull that burst the pirate’s head like a watermelon.

As more of the pirates were hacked down, their comrades began to edge away from the fight. Then those at the rear began to turn and run, dashing back into the citadel to try to find shelter amid its narrow twisting streets. The panic spread through their ranks like a plague, and moments later Macro and Cato stood side by side, breathing heavily, as they watched the last of the pirates flee.

Macro glanced round at the marines. ‘Don’t just stand there! Get after ‘em!’

The centurions stepped aside and let the marines past. As their optio emerged through the ruined barricade Cato called him over.

‘Take the rest of your men and cut behind these buildings. With a bit of luck you’ll come out behind one of the other barricades, and can take ‘em in the rear.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As the last of the marines tramped past, Vespasian and his squad approached Macro and Cato.

‘Well done. Now let’s find those scrolls. Secundus!’

‘Sir?’ The imperial agent stepped forward and Cato saw a bloody slash running down the man’s sword arm.

‘Lead the way.’

Secundus swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Follow me.’

The group set off at a gentle trot, up the street towards the watchtower that loomed over the citadel. Behind them a war horn sounded, to be instantly countered by the distant horns of the marines on the causeway. They passed by the entrances to houses forced open by the marines out to loot the citadel. Cato caught a fleeting glimpse of three marines cutting down a pirate as he attempted to defend his woman and children inside a crumbling hovel. But Vespasian’s men continued on as the woman started screaming in terror and her cries echoed up the street after them. At each intersection Cato glanced left and right and saw more marines breaking in doors, chasing down men, women and children as they tried to flee and hacking at those too slow to escape.

‘How much further?’ Vespasian asked breathlessly.

‘Almost there, sir.’

They abruptly emerged into a small square and almost ran straight into a party of pirates advancing in the opposite direction. Both sides slewed to a halt, momentarily shocked into silence. Then Cato opened his mouth and roared at them as he charged forward with sword raised. The pirates took one glance at the bloodied weapon and the savage expression on the centurion’s face and turned and ran, bolting for one of the side streets leading off the square.

Cato chased after them a short distance, before he stopped and leaned on the edge of his shield to catch his breath. Behind him he heard Macro roar with laughter. The rest of the party joined in and Cato picked his shield up, and returned to them, his cheeks reddening.

‘What’s so bloody funny?’

‘Nothing!’ Macro shook his head and tried to stop grinning.

‘Right!’ Vespasian broke in irritably.’Enough! Let’s move.’

Secundus headed across the square towards an archway, beyond which they could see the watchtower. On the platform above, the crew of a catapult had caught sight of the small group of Romans and began to train their weapon round. The marines hurried after the prefect and Macro and Cato took up the rear.

‘Come on, killer!’ Macro grinned as he gave his friend a light shove. ‘Just leave a few for me, eh?’

As they approached the archway three figures came running out of it, one of them carrying a small box. Cato threw out his arm ‘Sir! Look! Telemachus and Ajax.’ Cato started as he recognised the third man. ‘That’s Minucius!’

‘Minucius?’ Vespasian raised his sword.’Get them.’

The three men abruptly turned round and ran back through the archway, as Vespasian and the marines ran after them. But Minucius and the two pirates were not weighed down by armour and had disappeared from sight as Vespasian and the first of his men burst through the archway. Macro and Cato had just entered the courtyard beyond when the catapult on the watchtower took its shot. The bolt slammed into the masonry above the arch and dislodged a shower of debris on to Macro and Cato. They emerged, covered in grit and coughing, and ran over to the base of the tower.